


Burn me Up

by MadCat_mp4



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Curses, Feelings Realization, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadCat_mp4/pseuds/MadCat_mp4
Summary: This world is filled with darkness.But to feel something intense enough to form a curse out of it is rarely ever possible.Not many are willing to go to such lengths.Baz is.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Burn me Up

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Once Upon a Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033758) by [followsrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/pseuds/followsrabbit). 



> Hi there!  
> This is the first thing I really publish, so please feel free to leave critique and comments!  
> English is not my native tongue, so I'm also happy if you correct any mistakes you may come upon!  
> I hope you enjoy =)  
> 

Burn me Up

What he doesn’t know

He stared at him.  
He was aware of it, aware that he’d get in trouble if ever Snow found him out, but he also couldn’t help himself.  
One of the few things he was lucky at, was the fact that Simon Snow had one of the deepest, most impossible to disturb sleeps of recorded history.  
He could easily assassinate him in his sleep. He could probably kiss him too.  
Not that he’d do either, no matter how much he longed for it.  
His fair skin was sprinkled with whole galaxies of freckles and moles. He himself was just as endless as the dark night sky outside their window.  
Even the sun must rest…as to not burn out.  
He was just as radiant, burning just as hot and violent, like a force of nature.  
But when he slept, it seemed like all the flames went out at once, quenched in the sombre reality that he was not any of that.  
He was just a boy.  
Baz knew that all too well.  
He had seen both sides of him.  
It was like a painting, the canvas cut in the middle and drawn by two different artists.  
Though they showed the same thing, none of it had anything in common with its other half.  
Maybe it had been two artists who had hated each other’s guts.  
This was probably what would happen if they had ever been paired in a group project together…  
The night seemed completely silent, as uneventful as could be. It wasn’t, of course, since Baz’s ears picked up even the most deafened sounds; From the crackling leaves in the wood to an owl’s silent glide.  
As silent as the crinkling tension that hung in the room like electricity trapped in a jar.  
As silent as that could remain., anyway.  
The feeling of doom rising up in the air; Pending death and chaos.  
It was growing louder every day while they inevitably whirled towards war and destruction.  
Creeping closer, casting it’s shadow over their lives like a solar eclipse.  
But just looking at Snow tuned out the whole world like a cover of actual snow would drown out every sound on an especially cold winter day.

\--

Like that one especially cold winter’s day in third year, when he had cast `Snow is falling` several times the week before, so Snow would just stumble and hit his toes, and maybe drop whatever he was holding at the moment, just for fun. Oh, and fun it had been, until he had finally picked up on what was happening and confronted him.  
Well, to be perfectly honest, it had still been amusing then. More than Baz liked to admit to himself, in fact, since in all honesty he enjoyed the others enraged accusations, and that he was so easily triggered.  
Of course, he himself had never admitted to doing anything; And Snow was not the brightest bulb in the lustre, so he had no evidence at all. Which just made the whole thing even more hilarious to him, looking down as if it was not only 2 centimetres between them at that point, smirking coldly and smugly asking if he had seen him recite something, or point his wand.  
Which of course he had not.  
Baz wasn’t an idiot.  
And he had been careful to avoid doing it too often when Bunce was around.  
Snow was so gullible and clueless on his own, but Bunce’s word would have had more weight.  
Nonetheless the conversation had ended with the two of them rolling around in the snow and into a freezingly cold puddle, tugging each other’s hair and ripping their coats.  
He had only defended himself when Snow, probably out of frustration and helplessness, had started to become physical.  
But it didn’t matter to the Mage.  
Snow had, truth be told, been right about his accusations from the start, but that didn’t really matter either.  
He was sure that, if Simon had a glint of intelligence in him, he’d have managed to make him the only culprit.  
But he didn’t. And so, even though the Mage would have probably loved to have punished only him if Snow had just not thrown the first punch, they were both sentenced to joining the Christmas choir.  
Which he hated.  
The curious thing about it was, that, even though he could not hit a tone if his life depended on it, Snow seemed to kind of enjoy the whole thing. Maybe he felt `connected`.  
Maybe it was something new to him, who grew up all alone, to celebrate a holiday about family with something else than being alone.  
But then again, it had been the year when the Wellbelove’s had first invited him over for Christmas, so then everything had changed for the Great Chosen One that year regardless.  
Anyway, none of them had anticipated anything of that sort then, and Snow was enjoying himself.  
Of course when they were back in their room that evening, Baz had immediately started rearranging that condition for him.  
Not by badmouthing Snow, blaming him for their punishment, or some other, ordinary way.  
He had wanted to really ruin it for him.  
He had, sort of, apologized.  
For making them endure the most uncool thing in existence.  
He hadn’t REALLY said he was sorry, or take any blame for that matter, but he had vaguely stated something resembling it.  
It had been enough for Snow to not be able to enjoy the singing anymore. Not when it was something so horrifically uncool that Baz, THE Baz, would even admit to not being perfectly in the right.  
Yes, he had been insecure like that.

Sometimes he still was, Baz determined in delight.  
Though sadly not as much.

But something about his attitude had been wrong that day.  
And it had tipped Baz off.  
Sure, he had wanted him to feel miserable, but then when he actually had…Baz couldn’t find himself enjoying it. On the contrary, the way Simon kind of just hung around like a balloon someone had let too much air out of, not really gone, but not really present either, had made him mad.  
The young Pitch had retreated to bed early that evening, but Snow had just sat on the edge of his mattress doing nothing for quite a while.  
He remembered staring at him for the first time that evening, trying to read that strange expression that did not at all fit his face.  
As if there was so much going on behind those blue eyes…  
Blue.  
Simon Snow had blue eyes. Baz had never noticed this before, but he had, back then, had the feeling of drowning in them. Not because it was a particularly beautiful shade, or a special or uncommon one. It was as plain as could be.  
Plain, common…true, open and honest. It was a true reflection of Simon himself. Yet there was something more in them. So maybe there was something more in Snow, too…

Had HE triggered that? Had he maybe, unknowingly, hit an especially weak spot in the other?  
His insides had begun to twist. A horrible feeling that had reminded him of the day the crucible had paired them together. A scorching hot ball of iron in his stomach. It had been almost unbearable. And still, he had kept on looking at his eyes. Then his lips. They had been unmoving. Not just the fact that he was not speaking, but they had seemed to be made to stay closed forever. Like a marble statue that was shaped to remain silent for eternity.  
Silent. Like they had always been like this.  
This had felt disgusting. Not at all victorious, like he had just landed a blow against some mortal enemy that he wanted dead. He hadn’t hurt anyone great, anyone remarkable and overwhelming. He had hurt a lonely orphan boy. Someone who was probably thinking about all the happy families coming together at Christmas to talk about how much they loved, how much they cared, and that they were always gonna be there for each other.  
It must be a rough time for him…Baz himself was far from enjoying it, even though he had a family. There were shadows all over his thoughts now, and still he just stared at the boy who was so lost that he didn’t even notice.

„Snow. “  
He heard his own voice before he had even decided what to say, or even if he should speak up at all.  
Simon didn’t immediately react. For a brief moment, Baz was relieved, because what was he gonna say to him?  
`Sorry you’re all alone`? `Sorry nobody cares about you`? No, that wasn’t even true.  
`Sorry everyone just sees this mighty shallow persona of the chosen one in you and nobody really cares who you truly are, that you struggle and that you are like the rest of us, who try to get by day by day.` …that was more accurate `Or is that just us?` the voice in his head added without his consent.  
Was it just THEM…? Since when did he think of them…as THEM?  
As if they had ever belonged to anything together, had ever had anything in common to begin with. They weren’t friends, they weren’t companions, they weren’t anything remotely friendly.  
If anything, they were enemies.  
The closest they came to being in a non-malicious relationship was roommates.  
Roommates bound together. By fate. Or not really fate, per se, but the closest magical equivalent to that.  
Did that not mean anything?  
And why did he suddenly want it to?  
But his reaction had just been slow. Like an ancient machine that was rebooted for the first time after being eaten away by wear and tear for years, he had suddenly and stiffly turned his head a bit. It had taken another moment for his eyes to focus on the other, and not because of the darkness.  
There was enough moonlight to fill the room, and they were so used to the others presence that even in the pitch black of a starless night, they would instantly know where to turn to.  
Their beds were only about half a meter apart anyway.  
The blue eyes had met dark grey ones, and neither of them had said anything for what had seemed like an eternity.  
„Just go to bed. You’re making me restless.“ He had said snappily.  
Simon had blinked at him, staying stoic and awfully stiff.  
The raven haired boy had bit his lip subconsciously, then quickly realised it and hoped that Snow hadn’t noticed.  
Why was that affecting him so much?  
Simon had seemed to blink out of existence again while he slowly turned his head towards the window again. But maybe he had been a little bit shaken back to reality after all, because even though he was sure that Simon hadn’t wanted him to, he had surely noticed the slight tremble in his lower lip.  
Baz had swallowed. Hard.  
„Snow. “ He had said, again, but this time his voice had sounded unfamiliarly soft, calming and almost comforting.  
„Just go to bed…“ Simon hadn’t looked at him this time.  
„Tomorrow it’ll be better. Trust me. “  
Usually this would have had ended in a bratty comment, some sharp remarks, an argument and insulted sulking on at least one side. That day, there had only been a hint of irritation on his face. But Baz simply turned away in bed, avoiding any further engagement, and had listened to Snow shuffle into bed. His feelings had been a strange concoction of relief, anxiety, irritation about Snow, himself, and everything concerning either of them, and finally a weird feeling of free falling. It had been like his body had already known what his mind had yet had to decide.  
Something his heart had already carved in, that his mind could not yet grasp.  
Or maybe wouldn’t ever.

\---

The room was still filled with noise though.  
Groans and grunts, turning and tossing in rumpled sheets.  
His blanket had wrapped around his waist when he had struggled himself free.  
Nightmares.  
Again.  
Baz resurfaced from the ever so present memory, back to the awfully sober truth.  
Snow was suffering again, Terror infused nights were a regular occurrence.  
For both of them actually.  
It was strange, the way the memory came up every time, like a reminder that it was time to do it again.  
The memory of the first night he had used the curse.  
Slowly and carefully he sat up in his bed. The only sound his movements ever made was the almost inaudible rustling of his fine sheets, the ones he brought from home every year because the cheap ones they used at Watford nowadays gave him the creeps.  
Snow liked them. Well, they fitted together perfectly.  
There was not really a particular reason for him to move with so much care in a night like this, when not even lightning hitting their tower roof would have shaken Snow up. But he still preferred it, since it was almost a natural habit by this point. The same patterns used for his nightly hunting. Firstly, Snow could be dangerous, and secondly, he didn’t want to raise the risk of being discovered by any tiny bit. What he was doing was already insane enough, with no reasonable explanation to be given should he ever be busted.  
Not taking his eyes off the other boy, Baz softly shuffled closer. The distance between their beds was merely two small steps, but he still took his time, mentally preparing for what was about to come.  
He knew it wasn’t healthy. He knew it was unethical.  
Curses were forbidden.  
All of them.  
There were four particular classes in which curses could be categorised:  
Firstly, the wanderers curses,  
which derived their name from one famous case, in which a man would never be able to remain in one place for a longer while, without the hurtful need to move on.  
This, of course, was not all there was to those kinds of wretched doings.  
Though often sounding like the most harmless class, they were guaranteed to make a normal life impossible.  
To put it simple, it included everything that inconvenienced a life with no real ending in sight.  
Popular ones were often classified by Normals as behavioural dysfunctions, including anxiety attacks for no reason, severe depression or sometimes strong anger issues.  
Though it sounds tame on paper, it is a slow dragging misery with no cure.  
Secondly, fog curses.  
They actually came to be named by Normals.  
They included everything that messed with your mind.  
Hearing voices, seeing imaginary ghosts (not the real ones of course), paranoia, schizophrenia, all kinds of severe mental and personality disorders.  
But not treatable.  
Those curses were usually designed to worsen over time, driving their victims to insanity by slowly eating away everything they had once called their character.  
Lives would crumble like they were infested with vermin.  
Apparently many victims of such curses used to wander off on foggy nights, a curious side effect, which finally lead to it becoming the namesake for all of those.  
This was likely also what inspired the expression of a „foggy mind“ later on.  
Next was the dark curses.  
Those were the classics, the ones every child would recognise.  
Making someone sleep forever, transform them into a beast, wish upon them sickness, famine and plagues. Mutilations and mutations, physical traumas, wounds, rashes that made your skin rot away. Making your eyes bleed, your body become stone,  
Harming someone directly and for the whole life ahead of them  
It was the kind of thing medieval people would contribute to witches. Which was sometimes true, but more often times not.  
Lastly, there were the so called Miracle-curses.  
Those were particularly strange and versatile, often featured in old myths, plays and sagas.  
Whenever the curse victim would be given the power that was to doom them their selves, it was considered a miracle curse.  
Medusas look turning people to stone was a perfect example.

Speaking any one of these was not a simple matter in the slightest.  
There was no comparison to a normal spell at all.  
A spell was filled with light.  
Of course there were dark spells too, but those only mended the outer shape of that energy called Magic.  
Magic itself was neutral.  
When casting a spell, one would simply infuse it with their own intentions and will, knot it together with the collected power of a spell, and send it out in the desired shape.  
Speaking a curse was something completely different.  
To successfully perform a curse, you could not only reshape the magical flow.  
You had to take a hold of it, possess it, fill your whole existence up to the brim with magic, and hold onto it.  
Magic naturally would try to escape, but you needed to imprison it, hang onto it, and twist it’s whole core. It was like hunting down prey and strangling it to death.  
You needed to infuse it with your own dark soul, mending them together until it was just one dark, sinister flow. A grudge alone was not enough. To cast a curse, you needed to be filled with just as much darkness as magic, so that there was no more room to breathe, no more room for your own sole being, consumed by hatred and malice until it just burst out of you, leaving behind an empty shell of what you once were.  
A curse was not performed without losing a part of yourself.  
Not many mages were willing to give up so much just to hurt someone.  
Then again, not many mages would even be able to do it.  
As he crept closer, he could feel the heat around him grow more intense by the second. Whatever Snow was dreaming, it was definitely something that had build up inside his mind for a long while. All the stress, the fear, the anger; It all came together. The expectations of the world resting on his shoulders like the globe on Atlas.  
But Snow was no god. Not at all.  
And so he was crumbling.  
Baz was now hovering over the sleeping figure, careful not to get hit when he fought some gruesome thoughts in his sleep again. He knew about Snow’s mental state. Probably better than anyone else.  
But what were they thinking? He was just a kid. No one had ever prepared him for the role he’d have to play. For the fights he’d have to stand in.  
He was one of the most important pieces in the game, and yet he got shoved into the front row like a pawn. His own life and person were sacrificed for opportunistic gains, with no regard of how he would turn out at the end of it all.  
With him the case was different. At least he knew what he was doing. He knew what he wanted, what was coming for him, and how the world would perceive it all. He knew what he was standing for.  
But with Snow, it was so different. He just wanted to do what was right.  
With no regard of other colours than black and white.  
There was Good, and there was Evil.  
Yet, for a world that was so strongly divided, he was much too quick to judge.  
And for a view which was so simple, he was so easily confused.  
When he was though, it just made him dash out even more.  
But in the end, he wanted to do what was right, no matter the outcome.  
They were opposites in that.  
And Baz couldn’t help but feel intrigued by it.  
To him, the ways to achieve something didn’t matter. At least most times.  
There was a result, and if it had to be achieved in a certain way, then make it happen.  
And he made it happen.  
All of it.  
He was good at it, and he was proud of his abilities to always turn things the way he wanted them to be. His father never said so, but he, too, was proud of the attitude Baz had clearly taken from him. Even though Malcom Grimm was a loving father all in all, he was also a master of authority and controlled acting. There was always a hard split between the two perceived ways of his demeanour. On the one hand, one would never be able to pinpoint what he was truly thinking or feeling. His face was a perfect mask of unreadable, almost otherworldly ambiguity. On the other hand, he was also constantly making a point. A clear point of what he anticipated to happen. And what he wanted to happen, better should.  
There was no doubt, not the slightest precariousness.  
Never.  
Baz tried to copy it as good as he could, but he was sure that his intentions and thoughts were mostly still an open book for his father. Though not for many others, at least.  
It they were, he’d be in a lot more trouble regularly.  
But as it stood, he was sure that there was not a single person able to best him on this campus.  
Not in getting what he wanted.  
Even if it turned out to be not what he had truly wanted.  
The boy took a deep and calm breath.  
A normal persons heart would probably still have raced. But not his.  
Even of he had a halfway normal heart rate, he was sure that after doing this dozens of times over the years, it would have just gotten used to this kind of situation.  
Though probably it would never have gotten used to this closeness…  
For the last time, he took a long, silent look at the others contorted face.  
It pained him so much that he had to swallow.  
It was so painful to watch him. Oh, he longed for nothing more than to take him in his arms, hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be fine.  
That there was nothing to be afraid of, and nothing to fear, because there was nothing in this world or any other that could ever harm him. That he was there, and anyone daring to get too close to him would regret it.  
That Simon Snow was the one thing he loved so dearly, that he would give his non beating heart for him to have peace of mind.  
But he couldn’t do that.  
The world they lived in simply wouldn’t let him.  
So he did what he could instead.  
This was the best he could give him.  
With a steady hand, he placed his right palm onto the boys chest, and the left on his own.  
He felt the warmth, the thumping of his ever so lively heart, and the closeness so comfortable that he wanted to stay like this forever.  
But he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it.  
Instead, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, took all the energy he had left in his dwindling willpower, and spoke the words.  
\---  
Baz had been fearing Snow could lie awake for a long while that night, preventing him from going out to hunt. But instead Snow had fallen into a comatose state shortly after Baz had convinced him to go to bed. Probably due to the exhaustion of trying to keep his tears silent.  
Baz had heard him though. When nobody else would have, Baz had recognized his sorrow.  
And it had only furthered the idea which had sprung up in the back of his mind.  
It had been a bad idea. He had known it from the start. Yet it had still persistently nagged at him.  
His body had been hungry, making him feel restless and a little lightheaded. But the thoughts that had been stuck in his head for the past hours had weighed him down enough to make him stay.  
Sobs, small grunts, moaning in agony.  
Snow had been having nightmares. It hadn’t been the first time that it happened, but it very well had been the first time that the young Pitch had felt responsible for it. And felt bad about it.  
He had been very aware that what he had said had made a bigger impact on Snow than usual.  
He had wondered what he had been thinking for a while.  
About lonely Christmas days with no presents, no family, and no one who cared.  
He had probably never believed in Santa Clause.  
Baz had. At least for a while.  
Until the year he had been five, when Santa had not come.  
In hindsight his father had most probably just been too lost in his mourning to think about Christmas. It was understandable to him now that he was older, but back when he was a kid, it had been the hard proof that what had happened had been his fault.  
He hadn’t complained, hadn’t said anything, but just sat in his room all by himself and cried in his closet, arms around his knees, for a few hours.  
He had felt so alone, hated and lost. It had all been his fault, and there was no one there to console him in his horrible, lonely chamber.  
He had just wished for the warmth of his mother, but all he could think about was the incredible cold of the monsters grip and, whenever he tried to imaging her warmth, the heat of her bursting flames in his cheeks before the darkness had overcome him.  
He hadn’t felt warm in months.  
His small body had just wanted to give up, shaken from the cold, the exhaustion, the crying.  
But the next day, his aunt had come to visit.  
She had taken him in her arms, and his father had picked him up.  
…he was lucky.  
It was not the first time he had thought it, laying there, watching Snow, but the first time he had felt it.  
This is what it must feel like for Snow. To be still stuck in this small, dark closet, not even crying anymore, with the door remaining firmly shut.  
Baz had let that image set in for a while, without thinking any further.  
Snow was split apart, he finally had concluded.  
Because a part of him had one day gotten up, pushed open the doors, and walked out on his own.  
But a part of him was still there, holding onto nothing but himself in the dark.  
Baz got up.  
He wanted that door to open for him.  
He wanted to be the one to open it.  
It had been on this particular night that the young Pitch had come to grasp what was to become a major problem to him.  
And it had been the first time he had articulated what had been dawning on him for quite a while.  
He was in love with Simon Snow.  
\---  
Snows usually comfortable warmth now was a furious heat radiating from his body in waves, like a solar storm. And like radiation it went into Baz’ body and through it, washing away part of his reality.  
There was nothing else than his violent force, and Baz’ own cold.  
He breathed in deeply, sucking in the energy around himself. Every little bit of it he could hold.  
Even Snows magic mixed in, he could feel it like warm sunrays on his skin, tingling softly. Then stronger, biting down into his lungs, scratching on his skin like he was being scorched.  
They were illuminated by a soft, golden shine around his whole being.  
It was hard to concentrate.  
Like a storm of blades roaring up inside him, the magic tried to break out of him.  
His own inner flame was bursting into a whole forest fire, like the magical atmosphere was blowing on its tinder.  
Burning up from the inside, being eaten away like a piece of paper. This was what he imagined it would feel like the day Snow finally blew of on him. Like the dragon he had obliterated the first year. The encounter had become a legend in the magical community, but he doubted his death would have the same awe-striking feeling to it.  
More like the assassination of an important statesman. An Omen of war.  
He won’t mind it though, the day it will happen. He wouldn’t fight it. There was no way of overcoming it anyway.  
Snow was the most powerful being on this earth.  
When that day arrived, Baz would turn his face to the sun, look him in the eyes, and take all of his feeling, regrets and sorrow to the grave.  
It would all become meaningless, but his death in itself would be the last barrier for Simon Snow to cross.  
He would rise to be a true hero, he would overcome his own nonsensical ideals, and finally be the Chosen One the world needed.  
This was the role he had to play. The sacrifice he was willing to make for the sake of Simon Snow.  
What even was his heartache, his trembling knees, and his pounding heart in the face of his one, true love.  
Nothing.  
Baz held his breath, soaking in this certainty, holding on to this big picture.  
He drenched his magic in it, poured it all in, and let the raging blade storm hollow his whole being out.  
And when it was so dense, so full, and he himself so empty; when his heart and non-existent soul were about to combust – he spoke up.

The raven-haired boy shivered a bit but spoke firmly.  
Every word was loaded with an intensity that cut through the air like a blade.  
“A touch of gold.”  
The soft glow turned into an oozing, purple gloom, hovering around them like a sickness that had gained conscience.  
Then it seemed to soak into the two of them.  
Baz hissed and gasped for air.  
But it had already started.  
Like a numbing, heavy liquid, it flowed into him. Weighing him down like lead, grabbing his heart firmly.  
It all flooded into him, so forcefully that it physically hurt.  
Snow had stopped moving, his hand frozen in place where it had gripped onto the sheets.  
Baz pressed his eyes closed, but the tears still started rolling down his cheek.  
There was an unbearable pressure in his chest, like someone had grabbed his heart with no mercy.  
If it hadn’t already, he bet it would have stopped beating.  
The world was so cold, so numb, so far away, and the only thing he could do was holding onto Snows shirt for dear life.  
Like a lost child clinging desperately to his teddy bear, hoping it would keep him safe.  
Baz was not a child though. He knew a plush was not going to protect him. And he knew that Snow would never pick him up.  
He was hated, he was alone, and he knew that he was lost.  
Yet he just couldn’t let go.  
He just couldn’t.  
Even when it brought him down on his knees, his hand still firmly clasped on.  
It took a while for the wave of pain to subside.  
When he came to, he was still kneeing on the ground, his hand now numbly laying on the warm bed.  
He looked up, his head still heavy. Every movement was slow, and he had to struggle to even bring up the strength.  
Snow had turned away from him.  
Another silent tear rolled down his stoic face.  
Snow was sleeping peacefully.  
And Baz remained like this for a while.  
\---  
The story of King Midas was an old one.  
It was a powerful one too.  
A story about greed, sure, but also about more than that.  
It was a story about longing for something. And longing for something so bad, that it was the only thing you were able to set your mind on. Wanting something so badly that you would give up everything, even your whole existence, just to have it close to you, with no regard for the consequences.  
So when Baz had finally come to realize what it was that he truly wanted, it had not been a long stretch to arrive at a conclusion.  
It had only been natural to curse himself.  
What did it matter? He was already cursed.  
So he might as well bring this upon himself.  
The curse of Midas: A touch of Gold.  
In the story, whatever the cursed man would touch would turn into gold.  
In reality, it had become a dreadful curse, category four; Miracle curse.  
When touched by the cursed person, one would become golden.  
Not a single thought of sorrow remained in ones head, not a tear to be shed.  
All your burdens were relieved, your mind enlightened, filled with happiness and energy.  
For the cursed one, it was the opposite.  
All the grief had to go somewhere.  
Like a river, it would flow from one heart to the other.  
Everyone he came close to would find happiness, while he himself was doomed to a life of hurt and sorrow.  
Eventually, those who had been close would leave, and they would spiral down into a bottomless pit of loneliness, cursed only more whenever someone would try to approach them.  
It was a cruel one.  
And it had only been natural for Baz to take it onto himself.

Snow would never know.


End file.
